


Don't Eat Dinner

by FandomAfterDark (FandomLastsForever)



Series: TMA Connected One-shots [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Corruption, Dark, Death, Food, Food Poisoning, Gen, Horror, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pizza, This is my first attempt at a TMA fic please be gentle, Thoughts of Suicide, just to get used to writing it, set sometime during season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:35:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23461090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomLastsForever/pseuds/FandomAfterDark
Summary: Statement of Amara Jones, regarding a strange encounter with her favorite pizza delivery boy on her birthday. Original statement given June 13th, 2008. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.Statement begins.
Series: TMA Connected One-shots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1699201
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18





	Don't Eat Dinner

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at a fanfic for The Magnus Archives. 
> 
> Yeet.

It was almost lunch time when Jon finally came out of his office. He wasn't exactly hungry, per say. But he had a sneaking suspicion that if he didn't eat now, someone would come in and force feed him some takeout. It was one of those kind of days.

As he stumbled into the break room, he could hear Tim in the corner speaking on the phone, tapping on a notepad absentmindedly as he waited. Jon hoped if he was quiet enough, he wouldn't be noticed.

"Oh. Hey boss."

_Dammit._ "Hello Tim."

"We're ordering lunch," Tim said, holding up the notepad. "Sandwiches. You want anything? I'm on hold at the moment."

Jon shook his head. "No, I-"

"Last chance, on the meatball special. Or are you more of a BLT kind of guy?"

"I'm fine-"

"Come on! Anything?"

Realizing he wouldn't be getting out of this, Jon reached into his pocket and pulled out twenty quid. "Just…get me whatever you think is best. And a bottle of water. I have to get back to work. Just stopped to get some coffee."

Tim let out a soft 'ah', nodding briefly. "Sasha mentioned she was going some digging for this one. I'll just get you the special-Oh! Um, yes, hello. I'd like to place an order for delivery."

Jon left Tim to the order and quickly grabbed his coffee. He didn't want to linger. He returned to his office, grabbing a new tape before making himself as comfortable as possible. If he hurried, he could get this one finished before lunch arrived. He put the tape in, and pressed record.

"Statement of Amara Jones, regarding a strange encounter with- Oh good lord." Jon pinched the bridge of his nose, making note to track down whoever slipped this statement onto his desk if it turned out to be a prank. He recomposed himself and started again.

"Statement of Amara Jones, regarding a strange encounter with her favorite pizza delivery boy on her birthday. Original statement given June 13th, 2008. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. Statement begins."

* * *

_My father was not a kind man. He was vile. Very controlling. He wanted me to stay with him forever. One of those kinds of parents. My mother died when I was too young to remember her, and I suppose my father was so scared he'd lose me too that he just became that way. But he was incredibly strict, and if I stepped a toe out of line, I would be punished. When I broke a rule, no matter how small it might have been, I'd be locked in the basement for the night, in the dark with no dinner, even when it was freezing cold. Every time, he'd repeat the same words to me. 'Daddy does this because he loves you,' he'd say._

_To be honest, there were times I wish he didn't 'love' me at all. At least that way, I'd have some freedom. I wasn't allowed to leave the house. I was homeschooled, was only allowed outside for an hour a day in the back yard, but couldn't go anywhere near the fences. Doctor visits were all done at home, and I didn't even know what our street address was for the first several years of my life. Imagine my surprise to learn a decade after this event that I had lived in Blairgowrie of all places. TV and internet were off limits, and I was only allowed to read books he gave to me. My world was rather small._

_The only sliver of hope I ever had was when my father would order take out. Every Friday, he'd order pizza from this little shop down the street. I don't know what its name was. All I remember was that Fridays would come, and my father would let me answer the door that one time, after he made sure that it really was them. Though if I misbehaved during the week, I wouldn't get to answer the door._

_So I had no choice but to obey if I wanted to keep that one bit of freedom._

_To be honest, those Fridays were the only thing I had that kept me going. Especially when I turned fourteen. That's when a new driver started delivering to us. Can't quite recall exactly what he looked like, or even his name. He was really cute, that I remember. His eyes were a deep brown, and he had green nail polish on. He was my favorite, because he would always slip me a lollipop, and smile the sweetest smile as he said my name._

_I think that kindness is what spurred me to be a bit more rebellious. I'd sneak the newspaper to my room when my father told me to burn out the fireplace, and swap it out with a different one every so often. That's how I found out about the deaths going on in town. Sudden, unexplained expirations all over the place. The police suspected a serial killer possibly poisoning their victims, though according to autopsy reports, there were no signs of foul play. The most likely culprit, if you can believe it, was food poisoning. It was the only thing that matched up with the symptoms if you can believe it._

_It got very quiet at home not long after learning all of that. Father rarely left the house anymore. I wasn't allowed outside longer than fifteen minutes a day. And all the while I'd be sitting out there, I'd hear absolutely nothing. It was so quiet, not even a bird or a brush of wind to cut through the silence. Like the world had gone to sleep, never to wake up again. I'd started spending all my nights in the basement too. Father said it'd be 'safer'. It was so damp down there. So cold and dark. But I tried my best to live with it._

_Then, the Friday pizzas stopped."_

* * *

"Excuse me?"

Jon looked up from the statement, making no effort to hide his annoyance. "What is it, Martin?"

"Sorry," Martin stammered, stepping into the office. He held up a bag and a bottle of water. "Your lunch is here."

"Oh. Right, right. Just, uh." He cleared a spot on the edge of the desk. "Just set it right there and I'll get it in a minute."

Martin quickly set it down and hurried back to the door. He paused, glancing over his shoulder. "Is there, um…is there anything else I can-"

"I'm fine, Martin. Thank you."

"Right! Right. I'll um…I'll be going then."

Martin hurried out, closing the door behind him. Jon quickly picked up his papers, giving them a quick look over to find where he left off. He'd have plenty of time to eat after this was completed.

"Statement continues."

* * *

_"You know, they never really tell you what it's like. Growing up, reading all the books and watching all the shows and such. They never truly talk about what it's like to want to die while being unable to. The want to close your eyes and just. Sleep. Forever. To pray that you'll go to bed one day and become just as silent as the world at pause. To feel the emptiness of your body as you fade away to nothing. To just vanish, and hope no one notices you're gone._

_We weren't a religious family, and even now I'm not myself. But during those three months of imprisonment, I found myself praying to god for some kind of relief. To take me in the night so that it would all be over. To maybe strike me with this strange food poisoning that'd taken the lives of those I read about in the papers. There were some nights where I contemplated ending it all, but father had started checking before letting me go to bed, so I couldn't sneak anything with me to help that along._

_It was about two weeks before my 15th birthday when the deaths finally stopped. My father stopped keeping me in the basement, and I was allowed in the backyard for longer. Seeing the sun that first hour long session in a long time, I found myself crying. It was so beautiful._

_I made a promise to myself that day. That I would either escape my father, or I would die trying. So when my father asked me what I wanted for my birthday, I knew exactly what I wanted. I told him that all I wanted was pizza for dinner. It was a Friday, so convincing him to make it happen didn't take too much effort. As I waited near the door for father to give the okay to answer, I went over in my mind what to say. While I hoped it'd be him, and other pizza delivery driver would do for what I had planned._

_The doorbell rang. Father glanced out the window and gave a nod._

_And I opened the door to find my favorite delivery boy waiting on the other side. He smiled at me, holding out the box with a smile. He said 'I missed you. This is my favorite house to deliver to.'_

_Before he could pull away, I leaned in close. I knew I was close to crying. But I didn't care. I quickly whispered to him._

_'Help me. Please. Save me.'_

_The boy stared at me. I don't know what it was, but something felt…wrong. It was as if by saying that, a switch had flipped. His eyes didn't seem brown anymore. They looked almost…red. And his skin seemed to pale incredibly fast. If I had to describe it, he looked almost like a corpse, fresh from the morgue._

_He smiled, though it was a darker, more vicious imitation of what he used to share with me, as he slipped me another lollipop. As I took the treat from him, he grabbed my wrist in a vice like gripe. His touch was a frozen death, leaving a deep, cold burn on my skin._

_'Don't eat dinner', he told me. He leaned in closer to whisper in my ear. 'And happy birthday.'_

_He let me go, and returned to his car._

_I quickly went back inside, and father had us both sit at the table. As he set down the plates, I began to panic. I had to think quickly, otherwise I was sure my one chance would leave. So, knowing it'd get me sent back in the basement, I grabbed the plates and threw them onto the floor, shattering them to pieces. Father screamed at me and threw me into the basement. No sooner did the door close did I crawl onto my cot and hide under the blanket. I cried for hours, until the hunger sent me into a restless sleep. My last thought before the night claimed me was wondering how the boy knew it was my birthday._

_I still didn't know his name._

_When I went upstairs the next morning, I found my father in the bathroom, dead as a doornail. The police came, did their inspection, carted my father's body away. Everything was a blur after that. I remember staying in a hospital for a few days before moving to Edinburgh, and eventually I started going to school. I'm in college now, studying to be a counselor. So far, my life has turned out pretty well, despite the first fifteen years of hardship._

_I no longer eat any kind of lollipops though. And I don't order takeout anymore._

_And I especially don't. Order. Pizza"_

* * *

**_"_ ** **_Statement ends."_ **

Jon set down the papers, letting out a long, tired sigh as he dragged his hands down his face. "I'll admite, seeing the words 'pizza boy' and knowing a little more than I care to about some of Tim's escapades, I was almost going to write this off as some elaborate prank until the statement began."

He shook his head. Sometimes he wished Tim came with a mute button.

"Sasha was kind enough to have already gone ahead and done the follow up investigation," Jon continued, reading over the notes. "There was certainly a Miss Amara Jones living in Blairgowrie during what seemed to be a string of strange deaths in town, however any information on her residence before and after the date of the statement turned up nothing, so a follow up interview is currently out of the question. Employee records also seem incredibly scarce, as many of them were lost during the transition into full computer records across various businesses, but especially those with food delivery services. When asking around, none of the residents seem to remember any delivery boy that matched Miss Jones's description, though she was able to find an old police sketch based on her testimony. Though it still doesn't help us much given its condition."

Jon stared at the police sketch intently, his head aching as he tried to bring the face into view. It was faded, warped, and rather greasy. The man in the sketch had very kind eyes, dark hair, and was rather handsome. And yet, was rather plain in appearance. Not overly memorable.

Perfectly trusting. Perfectly forgettable.

"I'd be tempted to toss this report into the discard pile, if it weren't for the fact that these mysterious deaths all seemed to end in that town with Mr. Jones. That, and the cause of death being a strange bout of selective food poisoning. And that this statement was taken on a Friday…perhaps it's worth a further dig. I'll have Sasha see if there's any other reports of similar food poisoning cases. In the meantime…I suppose I should limit my own takeout orders for a while. End recording."

With a soft click, the recorder turned off, and Jon leaned back in his chair in exhaustion. He looked over at the food sitting on the corner of his desk. After a good minute, he chucked it into the nearby bin.

"I'm not hungry anymore."

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and criticism welcome. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed it.


End file.
